


Closure

by Drazyrohk



Series: Touch [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Mild Language, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drazyrohk/pseuds/Drazyrohk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guilt could be a heavy burden to bear, and Swerve wasn't a very strong mech to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

**Author's Note:**

> After giving Whirl and Rung closure in Touch, I wanted to give some to Swerve as well.

It took time, but things began to normalize. It took effort, and sometimes that was exhausting, but Swerve figured he would make it. There was no magic cure for the depression he had been suffering, and sometimes he felt like those around him who were trying to help were just humoring him to get him to shut up about it, but he would make it.

A routine was established, one that he found easy, but Swerve made sure he went out of his way to add something different to the mix every day or so. He changed the route he took to get from his hab suite to the bar. He stopped to help people if they looked like they needed it (and he laughed it off awkwardly with them if it turned out they didn’t.) He made the time to visit the people he considered friends if he hadn’t seen them in a while. He kept seeing Rung even when he started feeling better, figuring that it was likely for the best. 

Every time he started feeling overwhelmed, he thought back to his dark room, his solitude, his pain and he marched onwards. There were days it felt like going on was impossible, but he would make it.

Swerve had a lot of little victories to celebrate as days went on. He took them as they came, but there was one weight that continued pressing down on him, one that he couldn’t quite figure out how to lessen. He had tried asking a few of his colleagues for advice, but none of them seemed particularly comfortable with the topic and so Swerve found that there was only one person left to turn to. 

“Do you think it would be safe for me to speak to Whirl?” He asked Rung one afternoon during a session, the orange mech blinking at him and widening his optics behind his spectacles. “It’s been awhile since I talked to him. I wanted to try to apologize for what happened.” 

“I see.” Rung replied, reaching up to remove his glasses and lowering them to his desk slowly. “I wish I had an answer for you in regards to that, Swerve. Whirl has been making good progress, but I’m not sure it’s wise for him to be reminded of what happened so… forcefully.” 

“Ah, I guess you might be right about that.” Swerve fidgeted, shoving his hands between his knees and kicking his feet a little. “It’s just been bothering me a lot that I haven’t gotten the chance to say sorry for what happened.” He managed a slightly awkward smile, shrugging. “I was thinking of maybe sending him a letter.” 

“Yes, perhaps.” Rung looked conflicted, picking his glasses up and putting them back on his face. “I need you to understand that Whirl may not be able to forgive you right away.” 

“Yeah, I get that. I’d just feel better telling him, that’s all.” Swerve said, rubbing the back of his helm. 

For a few days, he left it at that. He didn’t bring it up again. He spent some time in his room after his shift, trying to figure out how to word a letter but in the end abandoned his efforts. The letter seemed to be so impersonal, and it would be easy to misconstrue words written on a data pad. 

Swerve refused to let it defeat him. He let it sit for the time being, returned to his routine and vowed to try again later. 

It was a busy night, both he and Bluestreak working the bar. The atmosphere in the room was relaxed, casual, and while there was the bustle of bodies and the noise of collective voices, it wasn’t really that loud. 

Swerve took the chance to wipe the counter down between customers, glancing up at the holo screen mounted above the bar from time to time. He was rewatching ‘Friends,’ he had it on for background noise and nothing more. It wasn’t the manic need for escape that he had been feeling before, just the desire for mindless entertainment. 

Out of the corner of his optic, he saw a flash of pale blue and paused. There was a hush that fell over the crowd, dulling the voices around him so that the ones coming from the holo screen were more pronounced. Swallowing the sudden lump that had risen at the back of his intake, Swerve turned to fully face the room, hands clutching uselessly at the wet cloth he was holding. 

“Hey midget.” There was familiarity in that voice, an almost playful cadence. Amber optic narrowed but not in a dangerous or aggressive manner, the only smile that Whirl could manage, and it was directed right at him. “Wanna grab me a Mood Whiplash if you’re not too busy?” 

“Whirl.” Swerve said in surprise, realizing how lame it sounded the second it escaped his vocalizer. “Yeah, sure thing. I can do that for you.” 

“You realize this is the only place on the ship you can get good and hammered? I mean, outside of breaking into a certain cranky doctor’s private stash that he conveniently forgot to take with him when he went on his field trip.” Whirl waved a claw in the air as he spoke, acting for all the world like it was just another night on the Lost Light. 

Sure, why not? It wasn’t like this was the first time in several long months he had been in Swerve’s bar. It wasn’t like it was the first time in just as long that they had spoken more than two words to one another. Nothing at all unusual or special about this. Nope.

“What about “Visages?” Last I heard, it was still open.” Swerve said, reaching under the counter for a glass and wishing his hands weren’t shaking so hard. 

“Pfft.” Whirl rolled his optic and leaned against the counter. “Mirage cuts me off too soon. Haven’t been properly drunk in months. Figured, I had me a good day, maybe I’ll go and get totally fendered.” 

“It’s good to see you.” Swerve ventured, grabbing the mix of high grade he needed for Whirl’s chosen beverage. 

The rotary said nothing at first, didn’t even make a sound of dismissal or agreement. He just kept leaning on the counter, staring down at Swerve, close enough that his venting washed over the minibot warmly. Whirl suddenly straightened and let out a soft laugh, clicking one of his claws the way a mech with hands would snap their fingers.

“I forgot. Eyebrows. He wanted something fizzy but ‘virgin,’ which makes me wonder why he even bothers coming to a bar in the first place. It’s like he doesn’t get what it’s even here for.” Whirl said jovially, then settled back against the bar top and waited. 

“Ah. I can do that too.” Swerve said with a nod. A line was beginning to form while he fumbled his way through Whirl’s order, but after a glance in his direction, Bluestreak picked up some of the slack and was chattering away at the patrons to keep them distracted. 

Bless him. Maybe Swerve would have to give him a raise. Or a vacation. 

As Swerve placed the finished drinks in front of Whirl (and damn it all if there wasn’t too much of that fizzy blue stuff in Rung’s drink, that would make it sweet but his hand had slipped and he really didn’t want to have to stand there and make it all over again,) he found himself trying to bite back the flood of words that kept threatening to bubble up out of him. 

Well, it was either a flood of words, or he was going to purge. The reaction to either would likely be the same in this situation. 

Whirl thanked him and grabbed the glasses gingerly in his claws. He had barely turned when Swerve could no longer hold back.

“I’m sorry!” He blurted, Whirl freezing in place and another hush falling over the crowded bar. 

The rotary was still for a moment, looking over his shoulder at Swerve. He narrowed his optic again, then turned and strode over to the table where Rung was sitting, watching with a tense gaze. Setting the glasses down on the table, Whirl sat down with his back facing the minibot, whose shoulders sagged. 

That was smooth. Real smooth, Swerve. It could have gone worse, but it really could have gone better too. No use dwelling on this colossal frag up, however, there were still people who needed drinks. Making drinks made it easy to take one’s mind off of things and so Swerve threw himself into it with more energy than he usually mustered for the task. 

By the time last call came around, Swerve was both pleasantly surprised and absolutely terrified to see that Rung left but Whirl was still sitting at the table they had been occupying. The metallurgist had been letting Bluestreak refill the rotary’s drink, seeing as he was sure he was just going to frag things up even further if he did it himself.

At this point, there was probably no avoiding what was likely going to be a terrible confrontation. Swerve wondered if he could ask Bluestreak to back him up, but this was Swerve’s mess and the kid didn’t need to be dragged into it, did he? No, if anyone had to die tonight, it would be Swerve and no one else. 

The last of the patrons excused themselves, the last of the drunks were escorted out by their pals, and during the exodus, Whirl got to his pedes. Swerve watched from the safety of the counter, his spark sinking when the rotary simply shifted so he was sitting in the seat Rung had vacated, giving him a direct line of sight to the minibot that was not cowering, no matter what it looked like. 

“Thanks Blue. I’ll handle clean up.” Swerve said quietly, Bluestreak frowning down at him and glancing towards Whirl.

“You sure? I could stay here, y’know. Or I could call someone in, maybe Aquafend or something. We could always ask Rung to come back because I don’t really know if you ought to be alone with-” Bluestreak began, Swerve holding up a hand to silence him. 

“It’s fine. Just go.” He said, Bluestreak’s mouth turning down but his head bobbing in acquiescence. “This has to happen. Long time coming and all.” 

After a muttered request that Swerve call him if he needed help, Bluestreak set the drying cloth he had been using to clean glasses on the counter and made his way out. Swerve locked the door behind him, ex-vented and grabbed two clean glasses and a bottle of Black Label as a peace offering. He stepped out from behind the counter and approached Whirl as cautiously as he could without looking like a complete coward. 

He climbed up in the seat opposite the rotary, who observed him with a calm that did nothing to soothe Swerve’s frazzled nerves. Whirl’s field was pulled in tight to his frame, making it impossible to read him. The glasses rattled slightly as Swerve set them down, struggling with the stopper in the bottle of Black Label for a moment before getting it out and pouring a generous amount of the liquid into either cup. 

Whirl picked his up immediately, waited for Swerve to do the same before offering him a silent toast. Their glasses clinked together, and while Swerve half expected Whirl to finish the drink fast, drop the glass and then throttle him to death, it didn’t happen. 

“You want to know what the worst part of all this is?” Whirl asked after downing his drink, his words only slightly slurred and his optic still bright. “I can’t even blame you.” 

“Sure you could.” Swerve said with a shrug, realizing he was going to need to drink more if he was going to make it through this. He poured himself more, did the same for Whirl when the rotary not so subtly nudged his cup towards the minibot. “It was my fault, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep.” Whirl said, closing his claw around the glass but not raising it. “But it wasn’t at the same time. That’s what makes this whole situation totally fragging messed up. I want to blame you. To hate you. Frag, for a while, I wanted to kill you, but then I realized it wasn’t really your fault. Sure as Pit wasn’t mine, either, but that’s not the point.” 

Making a noise of understanding but definitely not of agreement, Swerve used his now empty glass to steady himself, concentrating on the burn of the engex and trying to both avoid Whirl’s gaze and meet it at the same time. 

“But you… you and your stupid apology.” Whirl growled softly, his claw tightening around his glass. “You think you can just say ‘I’m sorry’ and everything will magically be alright?” 

“That’s not what I thought at all. I knew it wouldn’t be that simple, Whirl.” Swerve said, his voice amazingly steady if not a little high. “I wasn’t expecting everything to just get better with one apology. I just really needed to say it.” 

“To make yourself feel better? You selfish slag sucking piece of space debris?” Whirl asked, tilting his helm to the side, his optic curiously bright.

Ouch. That didn’t feel entirely necessary. 

“You’re a pint-sized, pompous windbag.” Whirl continued, Swerve’s shoulders tensing, the minibot wanting to hunch in on himself. “I won’t accept your apology, not yet. Not now. Especially not when it’s like that. You want me to understand that you’re sorry for what happened? Do us all a favor and get the fuck over yourself.” 

Blinking in shock, Swerve looked up at the aerial. His field filled with confusion and he sat up a little straighter, opening his wide mouth to speak and finding a claw pressed against it. 

“Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. You may not notice it, you opportunistic blob of waste fluid, but you have something you take for granted every single day.” Whirl said, narrowing his optic again. “You have friends, Swerve. Actual friends who care a great deal about you. You might not realize it because you’re so busy feeling sorry for yourself, but you do. There are plenty of people who were worried sick over you when they realized how close you came to dying.” 

Swerve’s vents hitched, but with Whirl’s claw still pressed to his lip plates, he didn’t dare try to speak. 

“I didn’t get that luxury. After what happened, I didn’t have friends coming to see me in the med bay. I was tossed in jail and left to rot for a week, covered in my own puke with my arms locked behind my back. The only person who bothered coming to see me was Rung.” Whirl’s volume was rising, but his field was still flush against his frame. “You didn’t bother trying, and maybe I can forgive you for that much if you were told not to, but if that was a conscious choice then you’re really going to have to do better than ‘I’m sorry.’”

Pressing his lips together, Swerve waited for Whirl to remove his claw before taking in a slow vent. “I was advised against it. They kept telling me to ‘give you time.’” He explained, Whirl’s field giving a single and very brief flick of understanding before it retracted once more. “I kept asking about you, but no one wanted to talk about it.” 

“Of course they didn’t. Because as much as you’re convinced that no one likes you, they didn’t want to treat you like the bad guy. What does that tell you, huh?” Whirl asked, raising his glass and draining it with a short ex-vent. 

It seemed strange to admit that Whirl was right. Swerve had been so deeply entrenched in his own depression that he didn’t really see things this way until now. 

“You don’t get to be the one who ends me. Brings me down. Not you. You’re weak as a toaster, Swerve. Your aim sucks, so do your drinks even if they’re stronger than the swill Mirage serves, you’re too nice to stop me before I’m totally Star Sabered, and you have this inflated sense of personal injustice that nearly got you killed. Not to mention, because of said sense of injustice, you let yourself get to the point where you were grabbing at random mechs passing by your door because you realized at the last second that you didn’t actually want to die.” Whirl casually tossed his empty glass over his shoulder, Swerve cringing as it smashed but saying nothing about it. “You’re an idiot. I really hate you, y’know? You didn’t have to do that. You could have called Skids, he would have bumped your uglies down one end of the ship and up the other. Asshole. Moron.” 

“I get it.” Swerve said quietly, Whirl leaning over him. 

“Oh, do ya?” Optic narrowed in a grin, field now fairly overwhelming as it pressed down on him, conveying the hate, the hurt and the fury that Swerve figured he deserved, Whirl let out a dark laugh. 

What erupted from him next was a stream of the most foul insults Swerve had ever heard. Endlessly creative, extremely hurtful and entirely justified, Whirl called the minibot every nasty thing he had in his databanks, then made up a few extra ones before finally running out of steam and sitting back with an air of satisfaction that Swerve had never seen about the rotary before. 

“I get it, I get it!” Swerve repeated, waving his hands a little in an attempt to get Whirl to stop. 

“Now you do. Yeah, I think you do.” Whirl panted lightly, pushing himself to his pedes. “Did you learn anything from this?” 

“A list of things to never say in Ultra Magnus’ presence.” Swerve muttered, immediately holding his hands up again. “And a very important lesson. I assure you, very important lessons learned today.” 

“If it happens again, whether it’s to me or to someone else, Swerve… I will kill you. There is no force in the universe that will stop me.” Whirl threatened, Swerve nodding frantically at him. “Now, I’m taking this.” The rotary grabbed the half empty bottle of Black Label and Swerve didn’t bother stopping him. “And I’m leaving you to clean up your shit hole of a bar. Have a good night.” 

The aerial knocked over his chair as he left, kicking a few more out of his way as he moved towards the door, but it was no worse than the mess left behind on a normal night so Swerve let it slide. 

He felt a little sick, his spark ached, but all in all it had turned out better than he could have hoped. For all the hurt, the weight had been lifted. He had a lot to think on, and he figured it wouldn’t hurt at this point to see if maybe Skids would still be awake. The super-learner was always good for cheering up a friend in need, and Swerve didn’t think he wanted to be alone tonight.


End file.
